


Great Beginnings and Fitting Endings

by DelicateRevelations



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gatsby lives!, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post - Movie, Writer Nick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:05:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelicateRevelations/pseuds/DelicateRevelations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving on with his life Nick writes his novel based on his time with Gatsby, while Gatsby himself looks over his shoulder and critiques.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great Beginnings and Fitting Endings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cross-posted story that can also be found on FF.net under my other username SassySarcasm. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by F. Scott Fitzgerald. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

_“Fantasy abandoned by reason produces impossible monsters.”_

  
_\- Francisco Goya_

* * *

“ _The first time I saw Gatsby after he died was nothing at all like the time we first met.”_

Nick groaned and in a fit of frustration balled up the paper he’d just removed from the type writer, and threw it at the wall. He watched helplessly as it bounced off and fell into a pair of shoes he’d left there earlier.

Running his fingers through his already messy hair, he turned back to the type writer, and began again.

“ _Reality rarely has the happy endings that most stories do. But I always thought that someone as hopeful as Gatsby was, deserved one. In the end, I was proven right.”_

That was better, Nick decided.

“ _If you wanted to get technical the first time I saw him after his death was when I stood on the end of his pier, watching the green light at the end of a grand house Daisy no longer lived in. I would later swear I had seen the shadowy form of Gatsby, still there. Still reaching.”_

But now he was getting off topic, wasn’t he?

“ _That was of little consequence, because as I later found out, Gatsby was alive.”_

Nick paused, sipping his tea. He’d quit alcohol cold turkey after Gatsby’s death, he hadn’t been able to stomach it nor the reminders that came with it.

“ _I was very surprised when I saw him next, as I imagine anyone seeing a supposedly dead man would be.”_

It felt like it had just happened yesterday, and not years ago. The memory of the newly found alive Gatsby was that ingrained in his mind. He was quite sure he would never forget.

“ _His first words were, somewhat predictably, ‘Old Sport’ Then Gatsby had smiled, that understandingly gentle smile I had only ever seen once or twice, ‘It’s been awhile. How’ve you been? Well, I hope.’”_

Stopping there, Nick looked around as he heard a door open. “I’m home!” a cheerful voice called and Nick couldn’t have stopped the smile forming on his face if he tried.

“Typing again, Old Sport?” The same cheerful voice asked, amusement coloring his tone.

Nick spun around in his chair, taking in the welcome sight of Gatsby lounging in the door way. He’d already taken off his coat, removed his tie and rolled his sleeves up to his elbow. The only sign of how elaborately dressed he’d been previously was the cane he was absentmindedly swinging.

But Gatsby didn’t wait for an answer, just moved into the room with a grin. “I’m beginning to think I’m not entertaining enough on my own, seeing as you keep returning to this... thing.” He teased, eyes twinkling.

“You couldn’t stop being entertaining if you tried, Gatsby.” Nick returned.

Gatsby’s eyes widened, a startled laugh leaving his lips. “You’re in a good mood.” He observed.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Nick replied with a graceless shrug.

Intrigued, Gatsby moved closer to lean over Nick’s shoulder. He grew tense as he read the first lines Nick had written. But he steadily relaxed the farther along he got.

Nick squirmed, embarrassed. He’d never exactly hidden the fact that when he wrote, it was often about Gatsby. However, he’d also never explicitly told Gatsby.

Some small part of him feared Gatsby would grow angry with him for it.

“I never intended to anything with it,” Nick supplied hurriedly, “It’s more for catharsis than anything else. I wasn’t going to show anyone.”

Gatsby looked over, and gave him that look he always did when ever Nick spilled an apology over something Gatsby saw as inconsequential.

“I’m... flattered Old Sport.” Gatsby told him finally. “In truth I had been growing jealous of the attention you were paying to this hobby. I feel rather foolish now.”

Nick examined Gatsby, and could indeed see the tell-tale signs Gatsby displayed when he was embarrassed or flustered. His neck would redden slightly, just as it was now, and the lines around his eyes would crinkle.

“You had nothing to be jealous of,” Nick was quick to assure him, “It’s just something I use to put things in perspective, you know?”

Nodding, Gatsby pulled up a spare chair and took a seat. “Please continue.” Here, he hesitated, “And may I stay and watch?”

Taken aback, but in a pleasant way, Nick grinned. “Of course! And please do correct me if I get something wrong.”

Gatsby smiled, his eyes gentle.

Clearing his throat, Nick returned to the typewriter, this time reading aloud as he typed.

“ _For the first several moments I was frozen, convinced that I had finally snapped and begun to hallucinate. Matters were not helped along by the fact that I had only just begun to feel the effects of withdrawal.”_

“You were looking rather down in the dumps, Old Sport.” Gatsby interrupted, ducking his head when Nick sent him a good-natured glare.

“ ‘ _Gatsby?’ I remember asking, my voice hoarse. He just smiled. And for once instead of delighting me, the smile made me angry. At this point, it had been months since his ‘supposed’ death. Months of anger, depression, loneliness... months of mourning. So while half of me was still convinced I was delusional, the other half was so very angry.”_

In real time, Gatsby shuddered. “I do believe that was the first time I saw you more than just mildly annoyed.”

Nick smirked, “I’ve been told that I’m slow to anger, but that when I do it’s somewhat... impressive.”

Nodding emphatically, Gatsby wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment. He now avoided making Nick angry whenever possible.

“ _Looking back, I realize I was unfair to him as I railed and ranted at him, saying things like ‘how dare you!’ and asking ‘why?’ repeatedly. I wanted so desperately for him to have a good reason for letting me, letting us all, believe he was dead.”_

“ _At some point during my tantrum, he approached me, his expression contrite. He placed his hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eye and said, “I apologize for worrying you, Nick. But I am ever so glad to see you again.”_

Nick turned to glare playfully at Gatsby, “And then you smiled. That annoying smile that always makes my mind go blank.”

“That’s the point, my dear fellow!”

With a roll of his eyes, Nick once again attempted to concentrate on his writings, on his past.

“ _After that, the fight left me. The part of me that had been convinced he wasn’t real had grown quiet when his hands fell on my shoulders. And with that, my anger was gone and I was just so relieved that I felt like a great weight had been lifted from me.”_

“You are doing wonderful things for my already inflated ego, darling.” Gatsby observed dryly.

Nick turned to him, wanting to be sure Gatsby could read the honesty on his face, “It’s all true.”

Gatsby reached over and brushed his fingers along Nick’s cheek moving the piece of hair that had fallen back behind his ear.

Flushing, Nick returned to the typewriter again. This time it was more of a retreat than anything else.

“ ‘ _Gatsby!’ I had cried, the full weight of the fact he was alive hitting me full force. So excited was I, that I pulled him into a hug. You must understand that I was not the kind of person given to such gestures. Somehow that made it mean all the more. Like the cake a mother makes only once a year, its rareness made it all the sweeter.”_

“You’re very poetic.” Gatsby couldn’t help but comment.

Nick grinned abashedly, “Always the tone of surprise...”

“ _I wasn’t good for much after that. I was barely able to comprehend the fact that he was alive, much less pay attention to whatever he was trying to tell me. Gatsby must have sensed that because he steered me back to the couch I’d previously been sitting on, and sat us both down, his arm around my shoulder. We must have sat there for hours, completely silent. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was quite the opposite.”_

“ _It took me hours to get up the nerve to ask questions. We stayed up the rest of the night talking it out. About how he really had been shot, but it had missed his heart so instead of killing him, he’d just been badly injured. And how to protect him, his butler (a man who’d he’d worked with and trusted for years) had decided that faking his death was the only way to protect him.”_

“Turned out he was right.” Gatsby supplied helpfully, ignoring the look of reproach Nick sent him.

“ _Gatsby went on to explain how he’d been in and out of hospitals, safe houses and rehabs over the last several months. The only time he showed any hesitance in answering my questions was when I brought up Daisy.”_

Gatsby winced. Nick’s cousin and Gatsby’s first love, was still something of a sore subject.

“ _I’d assumed she would be the first thing he would ask about. After all, the only reason he’d first approached me was to reconnect with her.”_

“That’s not true!” Gatsby cried.

Nick looked at him with a raised brow.

Gatsby deflated, “Alright that was most of the reason. But I also just wanted to get to know you, otherwise I would have thrown you to the wayside after you set up the meeting.”

Intrigued, Nick couldn’t help but ask, “Why didn’t you?”

“You were... different...” Gatsby looked away. “Did you know you were the first and last person to ever thank me after a party?”

“No, but somehow I’m not surprised.” Nick said.

Gatsby nodded, “That was part of it, I was interested after that. And then when you offered to help with Daisy and seemingly for nothing in return, I knew I wanted to get to know you. I wanted figure you out. I half expected you to turn out to be just as... self-absorbed as the others.”

Turning away from the window and back to him, Gatsby’s blue eyes were soft, “But you were never like them.”

This time it was Nick’s turn to look away embarrassed.

“You never were either.” He told Gatsby, “And you were worth so much more than them because of it.”

“ _But when I brought her up, debating on how to tell him that she’d left town to god knows where, he’d retreated into himself. And with a shrug he asked, “Why worry about what is past? Turns out you were right Old Sport, history can’t be repeated. And it shouldn’t be.”_

“That was when I knew something was different,” Nick informed him, hands suspended over the keys. “For the first time you looked hopeful, not about Daisy, but about life. That was when I knew, that maybe you would get a happy ending, Jay.”

Gatsby smiled, leaned over, his face impossibly close to Nick’s, “I already found it, Nick.”

After that, Nick would never be sure who moved first. But you could be sure that the type-writer sat in the background, thoroughly forgotten.

 

* * *

 

  _No man or woman who tries to pursue an ideal in his or her own way is without enemies.”_

_\- Daisy Bates._

* * *


End file.
